Associated Press file photoBoston Red Sox's Dustin Pedroia, who has been at the center of good times and bad, but said the dispute with Alfredo Aceves Saturday was not for public consumption.

Asked what was said in a heated dugout exchange with Alfredo Aceves Saturday night, Dustin Pedroia drew the line.

"That's none of your guys' business. That's between teammates,'' the second baseman told the media snoops.

Is he right?

As this Red Sox season spirals from disappointment to decay, the question exists of just how much the public has a right to know about why this team is broken.

Let us first clarify that when Pedroia is talking about "you guys,'' meaning media, he is really talking about you guys, the public.

Whether a handful of reporters know the inside skinny means nothing. What matters is that they - we - will transmit it to the masses - you.

Pedroia is saying this was an in-house matter, so butt out, America.

It is a natural reaction in a world when athletes treat their clubhouse as a sanctuary. What is said there, stays there.

Even if that rule is accepted, the dugout is different. It is a public place where witnesses will wonder what argument they are witnessing.

But there's a bigger question here than a moment between a frustrated infielder and knucklehead pitcher.

The Red Sox are a private firm that brags about representing a Nation. What do its citizens have a right to know?

Having listened to Aceves impart his goofy wisdom before, I have no interest in knowing why he tried to catch a foul ball that was not his job, or kept trying to pick guys off second base.

But I am interested in how this team will treat the matter of transparency. It affects me as a media member, but my real interest is in how much this team, which is relying on fan devotion to sustain it through these troubled times, thinks it should share with - you.

What about the infamous July 26 meeting between 17 disenchanted players and the owners?

The players think that was private, and that furthermore, the media got it wrong. Of course, when you keep secrets that get found out, the news is not always transmitted to your liking.

Or does Pedroia have a point, not just involving the dugout snit but about internal team issues in general?

When we go to a movie, most of us don't care if the co-stars are backstabbing each other during rehearsal. We only care if the film is entertaining and engrossing.

The Red Sox were drinking in the clubhouse in 2004, but the world didn't know about it until after the World Series. By then, anything short of a human sacrifice would have been treated as acceptable behavior by our heroes.

But the 2011 and 2012 Red Sox are not only losing, they are doing so in ways that are making fans question whether their loyalty to this franchise is still worth it.

A movie is over in two hours. A ballclub is on stage for 162 games, year after year.

It relies on a relationship with its fans that goes beyond the white lines. In no market is that more true than in Boston, where fan and media passion can be psychotic but also makes this baseball team special and unique.

Pedroia understands this better than almost anybody else. He is a winner who is losing, he is frustrated and he is tired of being the media's go-to guy after every game, whether he gets four hits or his team loses 20-2.

But even if words between teammates on Saturday night were not anybody else's business, the way this team treats its own unique place in our culture is not a rite of secrecy and the province of a closed fraternity.

The Red Sox can be just another team, discarded when things go badly. Or, they can be the Red Sox, a private enterprise that really belongs to the public and is therefore enhanced as an entity unlike any other.

They can close out the public and have it their way, or be responsible and accept that the fans are interested because the fans care.

But they can't have it both ways, not in this market. A few words in the dugout have no real meaning, but making sure the 2013 Red Sox understand that will.